


Night

by tastewithouttalent



Category: MEGANEBU!
Genre: Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quiet Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Will can’t see much in the dark, just a blur of white where the other boy’s silver hair shows up moon-white against the shadowed background." Lorenzo initiates a late-night interlude and Will capitulates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night

It’s pulling at his pajama pants that finally wakes Will up. Lorenzo doesn’t talk much even with the rest of the Council, and with just Will around he sometimes goes hours in perfect silence. He never bothers trying to shake the blond awake, which means that Will tends to wake up at various points in the other boy’s process, depending on his own exhaustion. Before his pants are off is  _good_. That’s early, really, in the grand scheme of things.

“Lorenzo.” Will’s voice is low and rusty with sleep. “Why’re you awake?” He is reaching down to help with the removal of his pants in spite of his question. He knows he won’t get an answer.

He is right. Lorenzo doesn’t speak and doesn’t move, except to tug Will’s pants lower. Will flails for a minute, trapped in his own clothes and the body-heated sheets tangled around them both, and then his pants are gone and the sheets are too, so there’s just cold night air prickling goosebumps across his skin.

“Lorenzo?” Will can’t see much in the dark, just a blur of white where the other boy’s silver hair shows up moon-white against the shadowed background. The pale outline shifts down, and Will blinks drowsily up at the ceiling until teeth catch sharp against his cold-hardened nipple.  _That_  gets a reaction, a pained hiss and a curve away from the hurt. Lorenzo doesn’t move -- Will doesn’t even feel his expression change -- but his teeth come back, harder this time, and when Will whines carefully soft in the back of his throat Lorenzo bites harder to pull more of a reaction from him. It’s not until Will chokes on a half-repressed wail that the other boy lets go and lifts his head. He must be looking at Will -- the other boy can see his head angle slightly to the side, a gesture of mild interest from too many well-lit school days to count -- but his features are indistinguishable, the shadows of his eyelashes blocking out any differentiation between iris and pupil.

Will reaches up without any clear intention, fingers drawn towards that pale glow as unavoidably as his gaze, and Lorenzo pulls back and away so the blond’s fingers close on empty air. Will takes a breath, not sure if he wants to protest or speak or just breathe, and Lorenzo’s hand comes to his hip and lifts up, pushing so Will turns before he has made the decision to do so. With the motion driven by someone else he lands hard, twisting his hip under himself, and it takes him a moment to rearrange his body into a more deliberate position on his stomach. Having turned him over Lorenzo gives him the time to shift; Will’s not actually sure that the other boy is still there at all. There’s no contact, no sound of shifting cloth or of breathing, at least nothing that Will can hear over the sound of his own breath against the sheets under him.

He has no idea how Lorenzo can see in the dark -- maybe it’s just that the other boy has been awake longer and has had longer for his eyes to adjust -- but the next time Will feels anything it’s Lorenzo’s finger sliding slick-fast inside him without any other contact as warning. His throat closes over a gasping inhale in spite of his best attempts at silence, more from the surprise of the intrusion than anything else, and there is a tiny sound from behind him, one of Lorenzo’s repressed chuckles at his expense. Will takes a breath, and now that he’s expecting it it’s not hard to keep his breathing quiet if not necessarily steady as Lorenzo works his finger -- and after a minute, two fingers -- inside him. There’s still nothing audible from the other boy, and he’s still not touching Will properly, although Will is starting to go hard as his body catches up with what’s going on and his nerve endings wake up with the rest of his awareness. Will can imagine Lorenzo behind him, kneeling with his free hand limp and casual in his lap while the other stretches Will and his eyes sparkle with whatever inside joke he has with himself at the moment.

Will wishes he could see him.

He’s fully hard by the time Lorenzo slides his fingers free; whatever else he may be, impatient Lorenzo is not, and he  _always_  takes his time to prepare Will. It’s a minimal consideration, really, but from a boy who can’t be counted on for  _any_  minor acts of kindness it is infinitely precious, the sort of thing Will thinks about when he falls asleep alone instead of back-to-back with the other boy. Lorenzo’s long fingers come to close around Will’s hips, and it’s not a caress, it’s a careful bracing, but all the psychological distance in the world can’t prevent the heat of Lorenzo’s hands from seeping into Will’s chilled skin, and Will hums more at that than at anything else that has come before.

Lorenzo comes forward all at once, as he always does, a single long slow thrust so Will has time to ride out the first wave of sensation into the second of almost-panic at the excess and over into the third, when he loses control of his throat again and groans into the pillow that doesn’t do a whole lot to stifle the sound. His fingers curl into fists around the blankets under him and his body is freezing, he’s shaking with the cold except for the imprints of fire where Lorenzo’s hands are touching him, and then the other boy pulls back and comes forward again in another careful motion and Will’s skin prickles with a flash of heat, and when he trembles this time it’s not just from the temperature.

Lorenzo is studied in his movements, like he’s playing an instrument, following exactly the right instructions to produce the effect he wants. The only difference is that it is Will he is playing, and the effect is the destruction of the other boy’s self-control instead of music. It’s not just his movements; the physical contact, minimal though it is, sends tremors of pleasure across Will, radiating out from Lorenzo’s hands on him and his movements inside him and the occasional brush of a knee against Will’s own. Will is falling apart from that as much as anything else, so when he cracks and speaks it’s Lorenzo’s name, desperately soft in the quiet of the night, rather than an incoherent moan of pleasure.

There’s another sound behind him, an exhale clear with amusement, but Lorenzo doesn’t move his hands and doesn’t change his pace. Will wishes, every time, that Lorenzo would  _touch_  him, but he knows better than to expect it. He buries his face in the pillow under him, and gasps every time Lorenzo thrusts forward, and lets the  _want_  wind tight and nauseating in his stomach.

Lorenzo always takes a long time and maintains his same slow pace all the way until the end, keeps the movement of his hips and the touch of his hands measured and slow and deliberate so the only sign Will ever has that the other boy is coming is the cessation of movement as Lorenzo rocks forward and goes perfectly still against him. It is Will who moans, whimpering into the muffling pillow but still plenty loud enough to hear, and Lorenzo doesn’t even laugh this time.

It feels like an eternity before Lorenzo slides back and out of Will, the time dragging long and slow with anxious anticipation. Will can’t breathe normally by the time Lorenzo’s hand on his hip pushes him to curl onto his side; all he can manage are high panting gasps that give him barely enough oxygen to take another and none at all to speak coherently.

Lorenzo comes down behind him; the other boy is actually touching Will  _less_ , now, just the one hand resting calmly possessive on the blond’s hip. Will can feel Lorenzo’s body all against the chilled skin of his bare back; he must be a breath away, for how much warmth is pouring into Will, but there isn’t any actual contact except for those fingers, which show no sign of moving at all.

Will whines and wiggles, unable to put words to what he wants but  _wanting_  so hard he can’t breathe. Lorenzo laughs again and moves his hand; for a moment Will thinks gratification is coming, but then the touch comes down his thigh instead of around where he needs it. He sobs an inhale and the fingers come back up, to where they were, and higher, skimming gentle over the sensitive edge of his ribs, and Will shuts his eyes against the pointless darkness and wonders, as he always does, if this is the night Lorenzo is going to leave him in an agony of need.

And, as always, it is just as Will convinces himself that yes, this is the night, just as the tension in his body twists sick and painful with resignation that Lorenzo lifts his hand and closes his fingers around the blond’s cock with unerring precision. Will’s frenzied thoughts shatter away under the explosion of sensation, painful in its intensity, and he makes a sound that sounds more like a shriek than a moan. Lorenzo laughs aloud, not the dark barely-voiced chuckle but a bright childish sound of pure delight, and his hand moves fast and hard while Will’s fingers clutch at his wrist in a useless attempt to slow down the rushing friction.

Orgasm comes for Will like death, inevitable and inexorable and terrifying. He can see it coming, feel the tension wind cramping tight in his stomach and arms and back, and his heart stutters in panic. His eyes are open again, wide and staring unseeing into the shadows, and his fingers are clenched tight around Lorenzo’s wrist, and it doesn’t do anything to stop the movement or the sensation of the oncoming wave.

When the threat of pleasure hits him, Will’s body falls away from his control, curls tight and convulses with the pain of sudden relief and the continuing friction of Lorenzo’s hand still sliding over him. For a moment Will can’t breathe at all; his mouth is open but useless, reaching for air his lungs won’t accept. Then he manages an inhale and says “ _Stop_ , oh god Lorenzo  _stop_.”

He doesn’t, not immediately; his fingers keep moving, until the last dregs of pleasure have turned into overstimulation, and then, finally, he lets Will go. For a moment they’re not touching at all; there’s just the cool night air and Will’s own radiating heat. Then there’s a touch, cool and faint against the blond’s shoulder, and it’s not until Lorenzo pulls back and lingering moisture evaporates into a chill that Will realizes Lorenzo kissed him.

He blinks into the black of the night, and then he shuts his eyes, and he smiles, and when Lorenzo turns away and rocks his shoulders back to brush against Will’s it’s enough.


End file.
